Push Escape and Press Restart
by Derriala
Summary: "How many times will you replay this bit looking desperately for a solution?" As many times as it takes for Stanley to get it through this man's head; if anything, Stanley knows more and remembers more about this place than its curator ever will. The Narrator's not the only one with a reset button, after all.


**Author's Notes:** Hello everyone! Thanks in advance for checking out my fic!

*ahem* Anyway. I'm a huge fan of The Stanley Parable, and I just recently found out it had a category here... so, um, a story happened. Yeah. ^^;

Also, since this is my first fic, I feel I should mention this now: I am _horrible_ at updating _anything_ consistently. I have lots of free time right now (fall break ftw) but I can't guarantee how consistent this'll be. So my apologies in advance if there's ever a large, unannounced hiatus, you're allowed to yell at me for being lazy if that happens. ^^

Anyway! Without further ado, let the story begin!

* * *

" _Oh Stanley, you didn't just activate the controls, did you?_ "

Stanley turned on his heel and walked back across the catwalk, his face devoid of any reaction to the Narrator's words.

" _After they kept you enslaved all these years you go and you try to take control of the machine for yourself, is that what you wanted? Control?_ " The Narrator shook his head.

" _Oh, Stanley. I applaud your effort, I really do, but you need to understand; there's only so much that machine can do._ "

Stanley had re-entered the facility's main control room, with an expression that the Narrator, had he been paying closer attention to the man, could best be described as somewhere between exasperation and boredom. He leaned against the open door, staring vaguely upward, half-listening to the Narrator's speech.

"… _How long until detonation, then? Hmm… let's say, um…_ " The stalling wasn't really necessary; so many Stanleys had attempted to activate the controls that the Narrator could recite his little spiel from memory. He simply enjoyed watching his little subject panic and squirm. " _Two minutes._ "

As the timer flashed up onto the control room's large clock, Stanley casually pushed himself off the door and began to wander through the room, the Narrator's voice droning on about what he'd done with the other workers were, and how interesting this particular story had been, and how the next story was going to be even better. Stanley sighed and glared at the ceiling. What he wouldn't give for the ability to speak right now. To tell this guy to _shut up._

As if it would accomplish anything.

There wasn't much he could do at this point as is, just arbitrarily punch buttons and occasionally glance at the timer. 1:37. 1:05. 0:36. The Narrator added an extra minute to the clock. 1:47. " _These are precious additional seconds, Stanley. Time doesn't grow on trees!_ " he heard the Narrator say.

" _But you really believe there's an answer?_ " He himself wasn't entirely sure why he acted like Stanley remembered what the Narrator did. " _How many times will you replay this bit looking desperately for a solution?_ " New story, new Stanley. That's how it worked. " _Ten? A hundred? A thousand?_ "

Stanley glanced upward again in spite of himself. This was something new.

" _I look forward to finding out and to watching the bomb go off each time you fail. Just you and me in the wrenching explosion of fire and metal over and over and over for all eternity._ " Stanley could easily see the smug look that must have been on the Narrator's face right then. " _And Stanley died again. And Stanley died again. And Stanley died again. Take a look at the clock, Stanley._ "

He didn't need to look; he knew. Thirty seconds. Not much time…

" _No ending here, just you being blown to pieces. Will you cling desperately to your frail life, or will you let it go peacefully?_ " The Narrator may have done better to pay more attention to his victim, but with his victory safely sealed he was going to enjoy his gloating as much as possible. " _Another choice! Make it count. Or don't. It's all the same to me. All a part of the joke. And believe me –"_

The Narrator stopped.

"… _Stanley? Stanley, where did you go?_ "

 **THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE  
**

" _All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean?_ "

The Narrator, during the transition to the next loop, had decided that whatever the last Stanley's problem had been, there was no use worrying about it now. No Stanley ever actually died – the countdown reset the loop right before he truly died; if he _did_ die, the narrator would forget that particular loop – but that Stanley was trapped in that loop. He simply wasn't a problem anymore.

…If he were completely honest with himself, he didn't totally believe this himself, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

" _Stanley decided to go to the meeting room; perhaps he had simply missed a memo._ "

Stanley slowly raised his head. For a moment, he stood perfectly still, quietly staring at the ceiling. The Narrator attempted to prod him along.

" _No matter how hard he looked, Stanley couldn't find a tr-_ "

 _*THWACK*_

The Narrator abruptly stopped as Stanley slammed his hand into the wall. For the first time that either of them could remember, the Narrator was truly speechless. Stanley stepped away from the wall and looked up at the ceiling again, arms folded and eyes waiting.

"… _W-well what was_ that _about?_ " It wasn't so much that this Stanley had acted different from the others, they all did; it was that this Stanley had done something that literally no other Stanley had done before. The Narrator wasn't certain how to deal with this.

" _You're at your desk, you realize that_ every person in this building _has disappeared, and your first instinct is to punch the wall? You can't even be bothered to go check their workspaces for clues or –_ "

With no warning, Stanley grabbed a chair from a co-worker's desk and sent it flying, then began sweeping anything on the desks to the floor. Papers flew, pencils clattered, more chairs were sent sailing across the floor. A coffee cup smashed into the carpet.

" _Wh- Sta- Ohhh no, Stanley. You're not getting away with_ that _!_ "

 **END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS NEVER THE END IS**

" _All of his co-work-_ "

*THWACK*

"… _Stanley?_ "

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 **Author's Notes:** Yes, again. ^^; Thanks for reading through Chapter 1 of my first fic!

Feedback is definitely appreciated (I like to know what I got right... and what I screwed up on ^^; Hard to tell when you're the author, I think)

And remember: the end is never the end is never the end is...


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